


Did you miss me?

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, jimlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim thinks faking your death is cliché and that's why he didn't...Or did he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A snake in your abdomen

**Author's Note:**

> Just trying something on for size. There is definitely MORE to this story. :)

_I suppose now that you all know my secret you’ll be expecting some sort of explanation—A reason or logical answer as to how it is that I seem to be very much alive when I was safely in the ground in all your dull little minds not five minutes before. Stick around, and I just might tell you._

 

Jim Moriarty hadn’t always been the criminal mastermind that he was when he presented himself to the world; no, not always, but those bits are the most fun to read about, aren’t they?  There was a time in his youth where Jim, James if you were family, could have been any child just trying to grow up. To be fair Jim was never what one might call ‘ordinary,’ he had always possessed a thirst for knowledge and a sadistic streak, which made for quite an interesting time about the schoolyard.  By the time he was headed off to secondary, he considered himself a genius with a flair for nefarious indulgences. He found himself constantly evolving, slowly shaping the man he would proudly become. His callous indifference to human life and right or wrong strengthened him, made him feel like he was the only one on the playground that got the joke. Jim liked to play, and play he did; although finding worthy adversaries was a constant problem.

 

That was, until Sherlock Holmes came into his life.

 

Ah, Sherlock, where do we even start? Jim had finally found a proper playmate and he couldn’t help but show off his talents in all the best ways possible. His interest in Sherlock Holmes eventually turned into something more of an obsession; Jim had never enjoyed his role as a villain as much as he did when pitted against Sherlock.  Often he would organize crimes and murder specifically for the detective, garnering much fascination in watching his little _pet_ work. There was never ending possibility where Sherlock was concerned, and Jim loved poking at the tiny flaws that the detective possessed. Friends and loved ones were messy and boring, and Jim vowed to make him accept that fact no matter the cost. 

 

So began a series of preparations that would lead to the greatest heist the world has ever seen, or _failed_ to see, for that matter. Sure, fake suicide seemed a bit cliché to Jim, he still got a good chuckle out of that one, but he indulged Sherlock all the same—Let him have his elaborate little plan, because at the end of it all he would have to realize that it had been Jim with the eggs in his basket all along.  Sure, it was a lengthy game to play, but he could be patient; but Sherlock already knew _that_.

 

The ultimate deduction.

 

Two years had passed since this had begun, two years of playing into the detective’s hands and allowing him to pick apart the empire that he’d built. This had become deeper than obsession—This was something else, entirely. This was the criminal and the detective; both masterminds of their own craft, and both so wholly dependent on one another that the lines of reality that separated them often blurred. Jim reveled in the way Sherlock understood him, even when no actual words were exchanged. Despite the clear rules that divided them, they were the same.

 

_I am you; you are I._

Now the detective, **_his_** detective was on a jet plane, and that simply would not do. Jim had always known this time would come eventually, had in fact been waiting for it, like a child waits for a sweetly treat.  The time to start this game, _really_ start it, was now. No more hiding, no more pretending. No more.  A single phone call and it was done; the plan set into motion, the audience being prepped and preened for the ultimate show…

 

**_Did you miss me?_ **

 

 


	2. Obituary obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course there is wifi in hell, Sherlock. Don't be ridiculous.

_I bet you’re all dying to know if I truly believed he was dead._

_If I ever wondered why he did it, or lamented over the loss._

_Allow me to point out the painfully obvious—I am not like you,_

_I see everything on a grander scale; a bigger picture, if you will._

_I believe in many, many things, Sherlock Holmes will always be_

_part of that._

 

 

Jim Moriarty is becoming increasingly impatient.

 

It had been nearly a week since he’d returned from the dead; a handful of days since he had so valiantly exhumed himself in front of the entire world, and yet here he sat…Waiting.

 

 

As it turns out, when you appear to take your own life on the rooftop of a hospital, people tend to envision you precisely that way—Dead. Even when you present them with messages on their adorable little tellys telling them otherwise. Even when the only witness to your untimely demise is a formerly dead mastermind of his own craft. Jim thought of this as amusing at first, but as the hours ticked on into days, he became restless. He never was really any good at playing by the rules, especially his own. He had _wanted_ Sherlock to figure it out; to come running to wherever it was that he thought Jim would be and _beg_ him to explain how he did it. Of course, Sherlock wouldn’t ever _actually_ beg, but Jim would see it; the undeniable thirst for knowledge and the absolute madness of improbability dancing just there, behind those blue eyes, and he would know.

 

Jim turned away from the window he’d been staring out of, the inky blackness of night swallowing everything beyond his world. He couldn’t help but recognize the similarities between darkness and Sherlock Holmes. After all, that was what Sherlock had been busy doing during that stint in the grave, hadn’t it? Swallowing and devouring everything to do with Jim Moriarty that he could get his desperate little paws on? It was flattering really, when he thought about it. The astute detective traipsing all over Europe, ripping and tearing at things that he would never fully understand. Oh, Jim supposed Sherlock could understand the reasoning behind the structure, it was _elementary_ , after all; but he doubted that the detective could ever put his finger on why Jim did the things that he did or the way that he did them.

 

_Because I can._

He reached into his trouser pocket, the corners of his mouth curling into a wicked sort of smile as he pulled out his mobile phone. Jim eyed the thing for a long while, contemplating his next move. The Holmes brothers might not find much truth in the possibility of him actually breathing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t attempt to force their hands and perhaps have a spot of fun in the process. The short text was typed out in mere seconds, agile fingers making quick work of the simplest string of words he could muster. Jim peered down at the screen, his smile intensifying into something slightly manic as his thumb hovered over the send key. He really, _really_ couldn’t help himself sometimes. Sherlock might be terribly thick most of the time, but he was still the most amusing puppet Jim had ever possessed. He did love watching Sherlock dance.

 

A soft hiss of breath escaped him as he depressed the send key, an old familiar tingle washing over him as he dropped his head back and laughed at the ceiling. This was exciting and fun, and far more enjoyable than being dead ever was. Jim had missed this; this game of never ending why and how that he and Sherlock played. It was like welcoming an old friend inside for tea, and as he lowered his gaze back on the mottled scene beyond his hotel room window, he couldn’t help but wonder if one day soon he would see Sherlock Holmes traipsing towards him at long last.

 

_I’m still waiting for an answer. -JM_


End file.
